As the last enemy falls, Faereith Stokes the smoke stick setting off the column of smoke that signals the refugees to begin rapidly crossing the bridge.
The smoke is lost in the midnight darkness, but Ghosteye hustles back to pass the word.
The refugees start moving, and the clop of the horses hooves sounds hollow as they reach the bridge and start across.
repair contract, with all the repair locations needed.
When you search the Ironfang soldiers, you find:
Four sets of basic hobgoblin equipment:
*Studded Leather Armor
*Ironfang Legion uniform
*Light Steel Shield
*Longsword
*Dagger
*Longbow with 8 arrows
*20 silver pennies, 30 copper farthings
Sargent Kerg has:
*potion of cure light wounds (x3),
*potion of endure elements,
*flask of alchemist’s fire (x2),
*vial of antiplague (UE),
*vial of antitoxin,
*scent cloak (UE) (x3);
*mwk breastplate,
*mwk buckler,
*dagger,
*mwk cold iron scimitar,
*mwk light crossbow with 19 bolts,
*animal harness (UE),
*backpack,
*bedroll,
*compass (UE),
*crowbar,
*manacles,
*Provision Points (4),
*signal whistle,
*silk rope (50 ft.),
*small tent,
*16 crowns worth of money
Big John is winded and rests his hands on his knees for a moment before straightening up.
He glances around at the destruction about him and wipes some of the goblin bits off of his equipment.
”Here I am, still alive. Not great, but not dead . . . Heh!”
He wanders over and points at the dead Sgt.
”Would anyone mind if I put on this one’s breastplate? It’s a lot better than my hide shirt I wore into town.”, he mutters to himself aloud, . . . “And I doubt I will be going back home anytime soon.”
He takes stock of the tactical situation nods, then moves towards the downed elk.
”Let’s organize, strip the dead, check the shed the hobgobs’ came out of, grab what we can and whatnot while the survivors cross.”
”Can we save the Elk? I would have been sorely flanked had he not gone back to back with me.”
Yaron stops his performance, and starts to strip the Sergeant that fell before him, "It's well made armour, John, it turned away a number of strikes."
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Despite knowing very little about healing, the one thing he knew was to put pressure on a bloody wound. He took a glance at the elk and Arlen and he was pretty sure Arlen was dead from the looks of the bleeding so he focused on the elk.
"You gotta put pressure on the wound. Someone get me some cloth, I think i can save the big guy."
He began doing his best to stop the elk's bleeding.
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"Someone heal Arlen! Count your loot later!"
He then slips to Faerlith and shows her where to place the explosive.
Elandra gets out one of the potions of cure light wounds and feeds it gently to Arlen.
Arlen gasps as some of his wounds close up and his eyes flutter open. "Did we get him? Is everyone okay?"
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Noting Sor looking around, Faereith heads over to him as the invisibility potion wears off. Moving to the indicated weak point, she begins setting up the explosive, watching as the survivors flee across the bridge and preparing to set the fuse.
”Yeap, copy that Sor. Looks like Elandra has Arlen. I’ll check on the elk.”
When he gets there he can see the animal is still breathing.
”Damn that’s a lot of blood.”
John looks him over and decides it’s worth feeding the four legged warrior a potion.
”Here we go big fella. . .”
He said while he administered the liquid as he would to one of the goats on his farm.
”That should get you on your feet.”
Finishing that Big John heads for he shack next to the bridge.
When John came over with the potion he nodded his thanks and instead whistled for Sebastion while going to retrieve his lance. He was too small to do much good looting bodies or the like so instead he moved to the end of the bridge guiding the refugee's across while keeping an eye out for trouble on this side.
As folk passed he knew he once more quietly questioned if anyone had seen the Applebough sisters.
Arlen limps over as Big John administers the potion. "Thank you big John. It seems that Russet and I better stay back from the action for a bit. I'll take him to the other end of the bridge to cover the retreat with my bow."
He helps the Elk to it's feet and then does as he said he would.
Big John smiles.
”Without Russet I would have been flanked by all four of those booger-skins. I’ve never gone back to back with an elk before, but he can cover my six anytime.”
John smooths the elks coat and gives it a pat.
”Send the elk across, but I need your help clearing the shack and I have one more thing to do before we blow the bridge.”
The big man calls out to the halfling as Swiftfoot turns to head off to gather his kit.
”And that was some heroic azz shit you pulled off on the bridge Darry. Charging past their leader to engage the three wolves by yourselves, man. Ballsy as hell brother! That really opened up the field and prevented them from forming up a defense line. Then after you spanked those land sharks you hightailed charged back in over here.”
John says in admiration.
”I have never seen canid cavalry afield before, but I can tell you, you and Sebastian will be indispensable once we get across. You two can go places no horseman would dare.”
The big man whips his hide shirt off and picks up the breastplate. He flips the rear panel up and over his head while he holds the breastplate to his torso. Practiced fingers find and fasten the clips and harness.
”Never thought I would be strapping in and arming up again. I told myself I was done with this shit.”. He mutters as he makes final adjustments.
Faereith watches as the caravan of refugees makes its way across the bridge, offering a warm smile, a kind word, a brief grasp of a hand or shoulder when needed. The town's folk only a few hours earlier celebrating the festival, had been through a night of hell, chaos, and so much loss. They would have the time to mourn as a community, once that were in relative safety, and she would very much more than with them. But for now every last survivor needed as much encouragement as possible just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Sor crosses the bridge as well. The f@#@ we gonna put these people?
Arlen nods, says "I'm glad he was there for you." sends Russet across, and joins Big John at the shack, longbow ready
Emerging out of the darkness comes your wagon, carrying what supplies you could recover and the most seriously wounded (including the disabled Aubrin the Green), pulled by a pair of horses pilfered from the stables out back of the inn.
Trailing the wagon are all the people you had rescued, packs full and sometimes carrying some unlikely objects of questionable usefulness (you spot two guys carrying what looks like an expensive carpet between them.)
Trailing the column are the elderly landed baronet and his squire, leading their horses piled with supplies also.
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Once the column passed, Faerith twisted open the plug on the "stump remover" on the wooden scaffolding. It began to fizz...
Beating a hasty retreat, Faerith is almost to the end of the bridge when a bright red flash that briefly lit up the overcast sky, and an almighty kicked her forward, where she sprawled stunned at the end of the bridge.
When your eyes clear, you see the splintered remains of the wooden scaffolding and burning sparks falling all around you.
The bridge itself lists heavily to the north in slow motion.
It continued to groan and lean and finally collapses in a roar of falling masonry into the rushing river below 2 rounds later.
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The north shore of the bridge is clear of trees, boulders, and other obstructions until the tree line of the Fangwood Forest some 300 feet from the river, leaving anyone crossing the area easily spotted (or targeted by pursuing hobgoblins).
A dirt road—the Tamran highway—winds into the forest before turning east, but this route leaves fleeing refugees exposed to anyone following or any monsters or robbers waiting in ambush ahead.
Glancing back, you see a ceiling of smoke hangs over the city, reflecting the orange glow from burning houses.
Ash drifts in the air like falling snow.
The screams of townsfolk have died away, leaving an eerie silence broken now and then by the howling of wolves or the harsh tones of the Goblin tongue.
Bodies lie in the streets, sprawled in pools of blood where they fell. It seems everyone else in town may be imprisoned or dead except for the hobgoblin invaders.
Phaendar has fallen.
He colored slightly in a blush when Big John called out to him. It meant a lot to him deeply that so heroic a man thought that much of him. He didnt say anything merely pounded his chest twice and held up in lance in a salute as a response. He didnt trust his voice to stay steady. That and well he didnt have time to be too proud, the watch wasnt done, and the town was already in shambles.
Once everyone was across and the bridge destroyed he joined the others.
"Where to? We need to get moving, with that loud bang its bound to bring any Hobs on this side of river heading this way and we dont have the forces to keep beating away attacks."
He added his eyes once more searching the townsfolk for the halfling sisters.
"Darry, you and I should probably scout ahead."
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Sor goes to check on Faerlith. When he's sure she's ok, he shows her the buckler and two dusts he found earlier.
With the glow of the burning bridge behind you, you head east into the eaves of the Fangwood Forest.
With the end of the immediate threat, exhaustion at the events and action strikes everyone.
You march the group as far as they like into the forest, but the townsfolk have only a few hours of energy before they must rest, and visibility so late at night is near zero for the largely human group.
You march as long as you can, but when you reach a resting point before intending to go further, everyone just drops off asleep.
In the grey morning, you all slowly come awake as a cold drizzle falls onto your bare faces.
You are in an apparently random section of the Fangwood Forest, trees towering a hundred feet tall, with a small clearing of wildflowers to one side.
Refugees are huddled under the wagon, under the leafy branches of the trees, or even under the bedraggled horses (risking being stepped on).
Amazingly, it looks as if half the refugees have no heavy cloaks or blankets.
He awoke perhaps a bit warmer than most after all he had a mount that was easy to curl up beside. Dread filled his sense now as he moved about the refugees as quiet as he could. He was half looking for sentries... sentries he didnt see. He couldnt rightly fault anyone really for passing out where they found space but they had to think smarter than this. How were they supposed to protect everyone if they just ...He wasnt even sure how many folk were here.
With a sigh he pat Sebastion on the head and started counting heads as best he could.
After the men had confirmed the shack at the end of the bridge was clear and the refugees were crossing without further resistance, John set about his last task.
Big John retrieved fallen “Doc” Vane Oreld‘s body which he had taken from the herbalists shop earlier.
Cradled limply in his arms, the weary warrior walks with him to the spot where the stump remover is placed.
”I tried to get to you Doc, I tried. I should’ve followed my gut. Had I known you were in a scrap I would’ve gone straight there.”
He sets him down gingerly as if Olred was still alive.
”We went to the dwarf’s first, took a gamble and lost.”
He props the corpse up against the wall in a seated position with its head resting against the bridge.
”I’m not gonna lie, we sure could use you right now. We’re gonna need some patching up tomorrow I am guessing.”
He crosses the man’s hands before dosing the man’s body with lamp oil.
”You went out fighting. You deserve a warriors send off, but I don’t have time dig you a proper grave or build you a pyre. Heh! at least we can send you out with a bang. I’m bettin you’d get a kick out of what we’re about to do with your juice.”
He steps back and quickly pays battlefield respects.
”The hobs won’t find your body, they’ll find the bodies of their own left in down payment for your murder. Let them look at the ruins of this bridge and maybe fear your being out here. We took your stuff with us. Not sure if we can figure out how to use it all, but at least they won’t have it.”
Seeing it was time to go he says his final piece.
”You delivered both my kids Doc. Took care of me when I came back . . . I never paid you back . . . Too late again . . . Always, just a little too late. Goodbye Vane.”
Big John walked off the bridge so that Faerieth could do whatever it was she needed to do.
”Send it up.”
The warrior watches the half-elf Druid running to get clear of the blast. He looks over at Arlen for long second before turning his eyes back in time to catch the blast.
He nods approvingly when he sees Faerith, stunned, but still up after being kicked forward by the blast.
”That one’s feisty as she is tough.”
John then says conversationally to the Cavalier.
”You know Arlen, we got a crap ton of suits of studded leather and some animal harnesses. It wouldn’t take me too much to make some barding for the elk, or the dwarf I guess, but I at least won’t charge you.”
”Suppose we should focus on getting through the night first I guess.”
Big John then taps Yaron on the shoulder.
”Well, I suppose you have material for a few more songs at least huh?”
He points a large finger towards the two men carrying the carpet.
”Hey Sor! We could use that and the scent cloaks to drag the road or trail behind us and cover our path! Right?!”
”Looks like that nobleman and his squire have horses. You guys think they are warhorse’s or just riding mounts?”
He thumbs toward the wagon.
”We got Aubren out alive so that’s a plus.”
”So what’s the final count Darry? How many did we get out?”
He glances over the survivors trying to take a quick stock. John looks genuinely surprised as the fog of battle clears from his mind.
”I thought there were more . . . I thought we had gotten more.”
John looks into the tree line.
”Did some already get ghost into the wood?”
”This can’t be all of them . . . Right?”
"Twenty two around the wagons, if folks slipped away in the night thinking they would be safer on their own, don't know If I can fault them. Look at 'em some of them have no cloaks no blankets, if this rain continues on, folk are gonna get sick."
He said lowly and glumly. He didnt mention the part that made him the sickest, no sense making folk felling down feel even worse.
"Im not sure if half of them would even know which end of a sword to hold...but then again, the folks of Phaendar are made of solid stuff.... Should have bought pipeweed yesterday instead of waiting... damn I could use a pipe."
He half mumbled to the larger warrior as he ran a hand through his hair exasperated. It was clear he was thinking about last night, and if he could have done better, if he could have done more.
”Twenty-two . . . “
John swallows.
”How many are kids? How many little ones?”
He says, his voice being affected as his breathing becomes strained.
”Do you know any names? Is a Kinley, Kendall or Tom among them?”
His eyes are searching.
”Davy, Lisa or Byrant?”
The color is draining from his face.
”Any of them?”
Big John: You see nobody below the age of 15 present.
Sor starts to say that at least they're not stuck babysitting a bunch of babies before the implications dawn on him and he says nothing.
He froze for a moment his eyes not looking at the big man. He didnt know him personally, but from the sound of his question his next words wouldnt be taken well. He wasnt sure how the man was going to react. Sebastion took note of the sudden tension in his masters body language and crouched lower barring teeth silently.
"I didnt see any children John, it was late, we hit businesses and the church not homes...I'm...I'm sorry friend."
He said lowly hoping the man didnt break down now, not when he was one of the folk Darry was counting on to keep everyone safe. He also was hoping the man wouldnt snap.
Yaron looks around at the refugees, seeking any faces he might recognize from the past, or better still, his father.... and feels his heart sinking as he realizes there are no others trickling in to camp. He must be out there. There's no way he would have fallen to the Legion. Not after having lived through the other attack...
He feels the slap on his shoulder, and snaps back to attention, turning to his memory to figure out what John said to him, and then shrugs, "Not sure I can see the comedy in this... it was a dark night... " He offers a weak smile and says, "Besides, it seems to be the very definition of 'too soon'".
Yaron says, "I think that Darry's the right of it, there must be other townfolk out there - but at the same time, we can't leave an obvious trail to our camp without leading the legion to us. I think that means we need to consider going out to look for survivors... and, for that matter, see if we can't track the Legion back to their camp to free whomever they may have taken as slaves."
"Thank you Big John. I had some nice barding for him at the front lines, but I left it there when I came this way. I didn't think he would need it."
Arlen sits up from the tree he had slumped against. He stands up, letting Russet continue to sleep. He looks around at the still sleeping villagers. So few. And yet so many to take care of. He shakes his head, and begins thinking of what must be done; how supplies and people can be organized to keep them all alive.
He moves over to join the others near Big John. He shakes his head in dismay at how few people are in the camp. "We saved the people at the inn. And a few more at the chapel and then the blacksmith shop. We couldn't have saved more without drawing attention to ourselves... We may want to spy out any prisoners they took. Surely... Surely they took some prisoners?"
"They were taking slaves."
”You have taken my little ones again.” he begins to sob.
Big John’s chin to his chest and screws his eyes shut. His nails bite into his palms as his hands ball into white knuckled fists. A strangled noise wells up in his throat and he struggles to suppress it.
”Milani preserve me as I try to walk the path of Gorum without being doomed to wander the wasted of Avernus forever.”
As the big man struggles inwardly and outwardly before his peers, they can see the darkness of the night growing about him. Out of nowhere, small motes of light gather about john’s head and begin wisping slowly around him, unseen by the big man in his grief, but visible to those immediately near him.
At the edges of your vision it appears small incorporeal spirits reach out to him, but you are uncertain if they mean to comfort him or draw John to wherever it may be they have manifested from.
John speaks pleadingly with someone whom you cannot see. His eyes remain shut as he says, ”You told me to live and trust in Erastil and I have tried to do as you made me promise, but I have tried to hold fast and I am so tired of living with ghosts and He will not grant me an honorable death!“
You swear you see the forms of two small children embracing John’s legs, but when you blink in suprise they are gone.
The very air around him seems lightened.
John’s eyes snap open and motes surrounding him are gone as if never there. His eyes reflect the firelight of burning Phaendar.
”He has shown me the way!” he breathes, ”Erastil, will speak through deeds not words.”
Flushed he looks towards Russet as though seeing the Royal Elk for the first time. ” In times of need, Erastil’s grace has also been known to arrive in the form of . . . an elk, or stag.”
Growing more resolute, big john draws the scarred broad-bladed long sword from his scabbard and fervently scrapes away the black paint covering the device emblazoned on his darkwood shield.
After a few passes a magnificent white stag with branches in place of antlers, and vines wrapping around its legs is revealed.
”My wife was devoted to the All-Father, Old Deadeye. She bade me carry his symbol with me into battle. When she . . . “
John struggles for just a moment, but plows on.
”When she died.” He gets it out evenly.
”I felt myself turned from him. Father Nolan told me I could find healing through community, leading by example and serving in various capacities as needed by those that live around me. I thought I was until now, but now I see I was blind to what I actually needed to do.”
John grabs up his discarded hide armor and strides over to the villagers huddled by the wagon.
”Who is cold?” he asks, looking at the assembled teens.
”Here. You. Take my hide jacket and put it on. The fur shall warm you then share it so that another may get warm.”
He points towards the flames of Phaendar.
”Behind me you can see the fires of your homes. You fear or long for those close to you left behind. I also feel the great loss, the incredible grief and share many of your worries. But, I will take the anger and hatred in my heart and forge it into a weapon. My mind will become a steel trap ready to seize upon the enemy and inflict that hurt back upon them.”
”They want you to be in terror, be brave. They want you to despair, find hope. They want you to submit, but you remain free in mind and body.”
He points his finger at the teens in turn.
”You are the lucky few. The survivors. You have escaped, you are free, you can fight, you can learn and hone skills. You are the future and hope for those we leave behind!”
He holds his hand palm open.
”For now. Just for now.”
He pauses and smiles warmly at them.
”We will be traveling together, training together, struggling together, and fighting the same battles together. We will form a squad. You will will learn to support one another and rely on one another. We are Phaendar’s Hope. We represent the community.”
”We are not beaten!” He commands.
”You don’t win every battle, but it is good to know you fought.”
”Our greatest battles will be fought within the silent chambers of your own soul.”
”I will tell you now. It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. That victory is yours!”
He lets that sink in a moment.
”That can never be taken from you.”
”From this point forward tell yourselves you will never give up, never stop fighting. Desperate battles are won in the 11th hour and most people give up.”
His eyes take measure of them.
”Right now your minds are racing with thoughts or numbed with emotion. Try not to over think things. When you think too much that’s when the problems and obstacles can grow in size.”
”There will be time for that, but right now we will keep it basic—Focus on what you need to do right now to survive. Think of immediate concerns and trust your basic instincts as long as they serve the good of your entire squad.”
”We will rise to the occasion.”
”Not all of you will be warriors, but you will all fight in your own way!”
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Sor's eyes get wider and wider as the big man breaks down in front of everyone. *He really IS out of his mind ...poor babbling maniac ...
"Yes, right. Well. We have weapons and armor for any who want it. I live out here. You'll all be fine. Don't mind the monologing large human. He does that."
Elbowing Sor in the thigh he glanced up and whispered.
"Easy on the snark some folk need the verbal morale boost eh.If that's how he needs to channel his rage good, better than him going mad literally now."
John was right, the first thing to do would be to make sure folks had enough to stay warm.
"Hey! didnt some louts grab a big ol rug between them? That thing will make at least a couple of cloaks, maybe four. Where is it."
He began mounting on Sebastions to dart about the survivors and see if he couldnt find it.